<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>An Argument by BishopDeaconCardinal</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641252">An Argument</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BishopDeaconCardinal/pseuds/BishopDeaconCardinal'>BishopDeaconCardinal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Bad Idea, Probably [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Introspection, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:47:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BishopDeaconCardinal/pseuds/BishopDeaconCardinal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrington finds this all ridiculous. It has to be. Does it not?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Doctor Carrington/Deacon (Fallout)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Bad Idea, Probably [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Argument</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pls, i said the last one was the last one like two days ago. they won't leave me be.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Deacon was asleep behind him on what was emphatically </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>mattress. Carrington had pushed him off his lap rather abruptly when a younger agent had come in to her desk. She had just looked at Deacon on the floor and at Carrington’s face and smiled this soft little knowing smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a threat of pulling whatever counted for rank in this organization when she had just smiled and gently put a single finger to her lips. He hoped sincerely she would stay quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What had surprised him more was looking at Deacon on the ground and seeing he looked genuinely worried. He looked like he was scared Carrington was going to tell him to fuck off and never speak to him again. And there was a very recent time when Carrington would have done just that. But between Deacon’s scared look and kiss swollen lips he had found himself nodding his head towards his own bed. He knew Deacon was tired. He knew he needed rest and wasn't going to unless his fucking Doctor prescribed it. So with that gesture he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deacon had stood, grabbed his sunglasses off Carrington’s desk and paused only to straighten out Carrington’s collar before laying down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now Carringotn found himself sitting at his desk and vacantly staring at a report on. What did any of this mean? What did it mean to Deacon and weirdly he was even less sure of what it all meant to him. He didn’t know what he wanted. He’d never thought he’d have an opportunity to be with anyone, much less fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deacon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This man drove him insane. He’d gotten into shouting matches with the man, near blows frequently. And now he found himself gently touching his own lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He digs for a cigarette instead, his hands shaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he feels so stupid for how childish he felt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Deacon was so much. He was loud and annoying and he lied. He lied through his teeth like it was a form of nourishment for him. But he was also startlingly kind and even more so secretly fragil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew Deacon's continuous bid to help their fellow man fell on Dez with deaf ears. Carrington often thought he wasn't asking much. But he also understood how limited they were in resources and personal. He thinks, perhaps, if The UP Deathclaws hadn't happened and Deacon wasn't trying to fulfill some warped form of repentance he might be a Minuteman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now that Deacon was here, now that he was in it, Carrington knew he would die for this cause. He knew he and Deacon were most likely outfitted for an unmarked grave or a burned corpse at the hand of Institute laser rifles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He supposes there were more advantages than not to knowing about Deacon's past. Other than pulling Deacon from himself in times of panic, he also had more selfish knowledge he kept personal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like Deacon's eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that this man changed his face in a moment's notice but his eyes stayed the same. He thinks it might be why Deacon wears the sunglasses. Presumably it has something to do with his deceased wife. He knows better than to ask however. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of him wants too, curiously, indulge. To wrap an arm around Deacon from behind and pull his sleeping form against his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carrington can feel his cheeks heating up at the very idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of him knows the truth. Knows the godforsaken reality of it all. They will die. And most likely? Not at the same time and it'll hurt. It's going to grab Carrington by the tie and choke him like a noose with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either Deacon will die in the wastes, unknown where or when to Carrington and he will have to move on without any form of closure or the Institute will find their location here too and Deacon will be left alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He flicks the cigarette away from his hand and onto the floor when it burns his fingers. He hadn't forgotten per say. Just hadn't...remembered….it. Fine, he forgot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puts out the butt under his shoe and picks it up to throw it in the ashtray on his desk. He lights another and actually remembers to smoke this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other side of that is, however, more what he finds himself leaning towards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have so little time left in the grand scheme of things. They dodge and weave out of death's grasp to the point it only makes sense that soon their time would be up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why not enjoy it together? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deacon was still an insufferable prick, a godawful self righteous bastard with some both a superiority and inferiority complex. And Carrington isn't naive enough to believe that just because the sex is good that it's the base of which to develop an entire relationship. But he's willing to entertain the notion of more than just physical aspects, as long as it's kept discreet. Strangely depending on the topic, Deacon could excel at this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up as other agents funneled into HQ, the teleporter work apparently being wrapped up for the day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dez sets a purified water can down on Carrington’s desk and starts to continue past when she stops on a heal and turns around. She sets another next to it before looking at Deacon then back him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Care to explain?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He needs rest. And if I have to make it an order, it's an order." which was true. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got that same shitty little smile as the agent from earlier, "Well if that's how we are demanding people care for themselves. Carrington, I believe it's time you rested. Maybe turn in for the night." her tone took a more serious note, "You overwork yourself." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes, "Kettle, pot. Besides, you'll notice my bed is currently occupied. So if you'll excuse me." he stands and leans towards a filing cabinet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She snaps and his eyes are drawn back to hers. Without saying anything she holds his gaze, daring him to lean on that weak excuse with more weight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs through his nose, "Dez-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Carrington." Her tone leaves no room for arguments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands fully and angrily removes his lab coat. She seems to take this as some form of victory and heads back to where she was planning. He follows it with his tie and shoes and lays stiffly on the mattress refusing to touch Deacon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wakes up wrapped around him like a snake with a blanket thrown over them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have a twitter @BDeCardinal</p><p>Also @locketofyourhair is my eternal person of whom I require to read these things and is ever so patient as I whine "Should I post ittttttt?"</p><p>You have her to thank this exists &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>